


took a little while to recognise

by prouvairre



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Accidental Marriage, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Enemies to Lovers, M/M, Multi, a long spiral of mistakes which makes one tiny lie one big lie, mainly enjoltaire centric but i have a tendency to ramble
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-24
Updated: 2019-06-09
Packaged: 2020-01-23 11:37:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18548995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prouvairre/pseuds/prouvairre
Summary: On a list of impossible situations to be in, Grantaire had declared this far away from unimaginable. In fact, Grantaire was sure this was straight out of a Vegas nightmare.(Grantaire and Enjolras suffer the consequences of their drunk selves, who decided that marrying the person who dislikes them most, was just a great idea)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote most of this while accidentally listening to yeah! by usher and it shows. i hope you enjoy it! i actually have no idea how to make sense of where this is going if it goes anywhere.

He was trying not to think about it. Honestly. It was no big deal. Except, it was. Somehow. Grantaire’s chest thudded with a dooming nagging feeling ever since his eyes squinted at a text from Enjolras. He shuffled along at the crack of dawn, still convinced that he had conjured up a dream of Enjolras wanting to meet. Every few minutes Grantaire would double check and, yes, Enjolras did actually invite him over, and Grantaire had no idea  _ why _ .

Grantaire strolled along the rain splattered streets, swinging one foot in front of the other to announce each of his steps with a gentle splash. Eyes scanned across the same towering buildings, welcoming the peaking rays of sunlight as he pushed along the cobbles of Avenue Trudaine. He was greeted by familiar faces, some wearing warming smiles in spring rain, and others with glaring recognitions from pub crawls gone by. All in all, the morning clouds followed him gently, his walk towards Enjolras’ apartment blissful. He walked hand in hand with the peaceful side streets of Paris, forcing his mind to focus on the beat of his music and the tones of the morning sky, anything but the idea of seeing Enjolras...

On arrival, he leaned against the cold brick of Enjolras’ building, extinguishing his cigarette with the scraping heel of his boot. Taking a brief moment of composure, his eyes scanned the deserted streets, searching for any cobblestone out of place, or any peering eyes over balconies. After confirming his coast was clear, and declaring his arrival to Enjolras’ is not in fact, a practical joke, he buzzed the number for Enjolras’ flat.

There was no warm greeting or even a fleeting question to who could be at the door. Within seconds, the door had clicked to unlock, and a loud buzz had echoed against the silent street. His steps now only echoed the cold ricochet of boots against concrete, and Grantaire wished he was back on familiar streets again.

Grantaire also wished he’d taken this more seriously, as his heart began hammering in his chest, and his fingers twitched with a relentless urge to drink. He stuffed his hands into the hidden depths of his jacket’s pocket and took deep breaths to prepare himself for whatever his fearless leader had summoned him for.

“Apollo! To what do I owe such pleasurable company?” he mused, forcing his grin to reach his ears as he took in the dishevelled Enjolras before him.

His curls frayed and knotted - stretching in separate directions, superhero pyjama bottoms mismatched with a worn-in red shirt which is littered with stains and threatening to tear at the seams. Grantaire pressed down the skipping of his heartbeat as he connected the dots. This is what Enjolras looks like in the morning. He had just woken up. Grantaire muttered a blessing for his memory and took a mental note to bring this image to life as soon as possible.

“You look terrible” he added, grin unfaltering. He was not convincing in the slightest.

Enjolras wasted no time entertaining Grantaire’s taunts, eyes rolling and sighs heavy as he pulled Grantaire into his flat, tugging at his hand until they reached a breakfast bar littered with papers.

The flat was nicer than Grantaire’s - granted, that is not hard to beat. He had been there a few times, knew where to find the hanging photos of his friends (which Grantaire appears in maybe one of the many) that were proudly displayed along the shelves and against the walls, had studied (and judged) the book collections, and threatened to put them in order (because it was unknown to Grantaire why a person would keep a book on the history of French politics right next to a copy of War and Peace). This time though, he was under the impression he would be even more unwelcome to pester the presentation of Enjolras’ poor literature choices.

“How are you so calm right now?” Enjolras spoke, voice grumbling as he separated their hands, pushing off towards his unfinished coffee mug. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me about this. This is a new low, Grantaire…”.

Okay, Grantaire would not dismiss any possibility that he had managed to stoop lower in a 48-hour time span, but even still, his brows threatened to touch in confusion.

“What are you talking about?” Grantaire asked.

“Oh for God sake, Grantaire. You know full well what the I’m talkin’ about” he added, his mug slamming against his counter.

“No, Enjolras. I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about. Is that really a surprise?”

A growl left Enjolras mouth as he strode towards him, tearing his eyes towards the piles of paper between them. The silence swallowed Grantaire whole. In a panic, he began to replay his actions from yesterday. Only, he didn’t see Enjolras at all yesterday. Grantaire spent most of his evening yesterday confined to the lid of Bahorel’s toilet seat, ungracefully sprawled against the cool tile as he worked off a ferocious hangover. It seemed unlikely to Grantaire that Enjolras had invited him over so early to personally deliver his unwavering disappointment, so Grantaire simply crossed his arms and waited. There is always something with Enjolras, something he finds simply repulsive in Grantaire’s actions. This was nothing he wasn’t used too, he’ll just wait for the lecture and leave with his head high and his heart low.

A snap of paper held beneath his nose threw him from his thoughts. With a huff, he took the paper and forced his tired eyes into focus.

“Certified copy of an entry of marriage- Enjolras, this is ridiculous. What is this?” he demanded, waving the green slip around frantically. What is he playing at?

“Keep reading” was all he got in response

With great reluctance, he returned to meet his fate “an entry of marriage registered between Enjo-”.

Oh no. No. Eyes scanned frantically between the lines, his own name scrawled in none other but Grantaire’s messy scrawled handwriting, a signature sloppily met diagonally across the signature line. “Enjolras, this isn’t funny.”. Grantaire’s breath was panicked, his chest moving erratically and certificate shaking under his grip.

“Do I look like I’m kidding, Grantaire.” Enjolras spat.

Honestly, Grantaire had no idea what Enjolras looked like. His eyes were glassy, and his gaze glued to his own scuffed shoes. At a guess, Enjolras did not look happy at all.

No, this could not be happening. The last thing Grantaire needed was to be bound to a man who hates him. Grantaire raked his hands between his curls, tugging against them as he took one final deep breath. In for 5, hold, out for 5. Enjolras, ahead of him, paced along the length of his kitchen, fingers pinching against the bridge of his nose. As his breath evened out, survival instincts kicked in instantaneously, and Grantaire erupted into roaring laughter. This has to be a joke! It’s not like he didn’t come here with his suspicions. It must be Courfeyrac, he’s the only one who would follow through something so bizarre!

“I’m not drunk enough for this” Grantaire choked between laughs, making himself at home in Enjolras’ kitchen and shuffling towards his (very fancy) coffee maker. Enjolras peered like a deer in headlights, following Grantaire in shock as he steadied himself against the counter. “You can come out now, Courfeyrac!” he was yelling down an empty corridor. At this point, Grantaire couldn’t be sure if he was waiting for Courfeyrac to emerge or just silently hoping.

“Courfey- Grantaire!”

“No, this is really funny, Enjolras! You really got me! Haha!”  _ was his voice getting louder? _

“Grantaire!” Enjolras repeated, his tone causing Grantaire’s giggling to stiffen.

Grantaire turned around slowly, like a goddamn comical cartoon character about to fly off a cliff. Part of him was aware that as soon as he turned around, he would be met with the realisation that this was not a joke at all. He was right, of course, Enjolras’ face just confirmed it. Raised brows and wide eyes told the story of Enjolras’ panic in an albeit more silent manner than Grantaire’s hysterics.

He sighed “You’re serious”

“That’s what I’ve been saying” when in fact, Enjolras did not say much at all, which should have been the first indicator that something was wrong.

“I’m not drunk enough for this.” Grantaire repeated, instead.

“Bottom cabinet under the sink” Enjolras muttered, directing Grantaire towards a cabinet with half-empty bottles of overpriced liqueur. Grantaire knew he shouldn’t, but his shaking hands poured a beyond decent amount of whiskey into his coffee, ignoring the way it felt against his throat going down.

Enjolras stayed fixed, willing the certificate to disappear in front of his eyes. Grantaire watched in silence, praying that Enjolras’ powerful glare could actually be enough to make this all disappear. He leant against unfamiliar countertops, felt the shock of the cold against his lower back and retreated into the corners.

“Right, so…” he began. Although, as he said it, the realisation that he had no idea what he was supposed to say bubbled against his chest.

The distance was unbearable, and the silence even worse. Grantaire’s encouragement for conversation did nothing short of tightening the air in the room. The married couple stood meters apart, shifting their weight from right to left ignoring the presence of the other. Grantaire began watching the arms of the clock above Enjolras’ head, ticking away in agonising persistence.

“There’s got to be something…. Legal… we can do, right?” Grantaire tried again. His statement was rather obvious, but Grantaire was not the academic of the room, and Enjolras should not expect a spill of legal jargon to escape the mouth of a drunk.

“Right.” Enjolras added.

Grantaire etched closer, pausing after his first step to check Enjolras for any piercing rejection, and rounded the bar to reach Enjolras’ shoulder. He peered over the red fabric of his shirt, studying the papers in front of him with sheer determination to find an answer to this. Scanning across a study of papers, his eyes landed on bold font reading “GROUNDS FOR CIVIL ANNULMENT”. Enjolras studying the paper in front of him, brows sneaking closer together in distress but repeatedly flicking back to his - their - marriage certificate.

Grantaire scoffed “Lacking sound mind” he quoted “You’re telling me.”

Ignoring the delay, Grantaire left his weight to dissolve against the surface at Enjolras’ side and returned to thinking about  _ how _ this actually happened. They had gone out drinking a while back - Jehan’s birthday, he thinks - Grantaire can recall the thumping beats shaking a club dance floor, a stingy place with sticky floors shaking under the weight of the speakers. He remembers the mouths of strangers, and the lips of his bottle, and another, and another. He can feel the strain of his neck from dancing with Jehan, lifting his head to meet the darling poet’s blown pupils, their eyes flooded with euphoria. The pair were flushed, impassioned in their intertwined movements to the bass surrounding them. The night was one of the groups worst, all of them puppeteered by influence, and all-consumed by the frenzied movements of the club under darkness. Grantaire was reputable for handling his alcohol, though now he can make a bold enough assumption to know he had overdone it. A second-hand headache emerged at the base of Grantaire’s skull, he flicked through the faces of the night to try and find anything that could spark the memory he was looking for. There wasn’t any memory of Enjolras Grantaire had not sketched into his brain, every moment and every word except for that night.

This was useless. He let out an audible sigh, tilting his head back and finishing his homemade Irish coffee with big gulps.

“Look, Enjolras-” he started. He should apologise, he’d dragged Enjolras into this even if he can’t remember doing it. It was agonising how obvious it was that Enjolras was crumbling under the weight of this. Grantaire knew there was nothing Enjolras could dread more than being stuck in this situation at all - he has heard speech after speech about the confines of marriage - nevermind with Grantaire, the dirt beneath Enjolras’ shoes.

“I know”

Grantaire used the last ounce of his courage to rest his palm over the papers Enjolras’ was fixated on. Enjolras’ head twisted to meet Grantaire’s stare, eyes studying the face of the other. Moments passed before Enjolras’ daring expression softened. They were both confused - thrown off balance - it was written all over them. The pair stood inches apart, and Grantaire pinned his skipping heart to the pressure of their situation, and not to the glassy eyes that were pleading with his.

“It’s okay, Enjolras” a clear lie, but Grantaire was not used to seeing Enjolras like this. “We can call someone? I’ll find Combefe-”

“We are not telling anyone about this, Grantaire” Enjolras demanded in retort. Grantaire wasn’t sure why hearing that caused his tightened chest to sting. Of course, Enjolras wouldn’t want to tell anyone about this. How embarrassing would it be for everyone to know he somehow ended up here with Grantaire. Drunk, vile, useless Grantaire.

“Right” he swallowed “So, we tell no one. Do whatever it is that annulment thing calls for, and get it over with.”

Grantaire is the one who pushes away, suddenly suffocating in the space between them. He faces away from Enjolras, eyes focused on the patterned wood beneath his feet. His shoulders hunched, feet crying to be anywhere but here right now. It was more than useless now to wish himself back to the confines of Bahorel’s bathroom, to hope he could be back at an empty bar - three drinks in - where he was nowhere near this, or him.

“Like it never happened” Grantaire finished.

“Right. It never happened.” Enjolras confirmed, and Grantaire blessed his instincts for not being able to see Enjolras’ face at that moment, but he turned around once he reached a safe distance.

“Look at that!” he mocked “We just agreed on something. How shocking”.

Grantaire knew he was not at all convinced he was cutting, his abilities to taunt and mock Enjolras severely weakened by his sunken chest, and cluttered, frantic brain moving at hyperspeed. What was he supposed to do now? For all Grantaire knew, he was trapped in Enjolras’ kitchen for the foreseeable future. Enjolras remained silent, probably returned to fixating on his work ( _ to get rid of you _ , Grantaire added, silently)

A sigh of relief flushed from Grantaire’s chest as he heard keys turn in the lock of Enjolras’ door. He turned to Enjolras, who frantically gathered his mess of papers as footsteps pushed closer to the kitchen.

“Enjolras!” It was Courfeyrac, which caused Enjolras to look at Grantaire with beady eyes. “Honeymoon is over, we have an emergency!” Courfeyrac announced, and oh shit.

“Honeymoon?” Grantaire mouthed to Enjolras, face scrunched in horror. Enjolras shrugged, waving his hands in a gesture Grantaire could not translate as anything other than a flail.

“Enjolras! If you’re in bed I am not abo- Oh! Hi, Grantaire” he stopped in his tracks, grin as mischievous as ever as he flicked between the pair.

Grantaire’s eyes squeezed shut, hands clenched into fists as he let out a deep exhale. “Morning, Courfeyrac” he muttered between gritted teeth, willing him away.

“What do you want, Courf?” Enjolras asked, turning as if Grantaire wasn’t even in the room.

Courfeyrac bounced towards them, curls swaying in time with his movement, and toothy smile filling a freckled face. “Now, Enjolras. That’s no way to greet a best man!” he exclaimed, locking his arm around Enjolras’.

Panic flooded Grantaire, if Courfeyrac knew that means the others knew. Yet, Enjolras’ face was unreadable, Grantaire pleaded with a harsh glare for Enjolras to say something because Grantaire’s mouth felt swollen shut.  Enjolras turned to open his mouth, the starting gasps of a sentence at the tip of his tongue before Courfeyrac pulled him harshly from his statued position in the kitchen.

“I need to borrow your dear husband, Grantaire. It is a matter of urgency” and Grantaire just watched with wide eyes as Courfeyrac and Enjolras disappeared into a side door of Enjolras’ flat.

Grantaire was deserted. Left with nothing but his thoughts, he sank in on himself. Knuckles turned white against his long-empty mug of coffee.  _ Right _ , he thought. On a list of impossible situations to be in, Grantaire had declared this far away from unimaginable. In fact, Grantaire was sure this was straight out of a Vegas nightmare. This was far worse than he could imagine. As if his pitiful endeavour with Enjolras wasn’t sorrowful enough, the man was surely going to decide this was the last straw. The embarrassment of this situation will be the thing that forces Grantaire out of Enjolras’ sight entirely - fallen victim to Grantaire’s drunken antics far too often.

They emerged after a few minutes - Enjolras first to appear in a glorious state, sun framing his flattened curls like a halo. Grantaire swallowed his awe, fixing his slouched posture and meeting him with a questioning look. Enjolras, dressed in red leather, raised his arms in swift movements to mimic the cut-throat mime, giving Grantaire the hint to keep his mouth shut.

Grantaire coughed “Right, I’ll uh… get going then” he said, fumbling hands adjusting his coat before moving towards his escape - fresh air, freedom, any room free of this - before being cut off by Courfeyrac’s bubbling laughter.

“Nonsense! You stay right where you are. Right, Enjolras?” Courfeyrac probed, elbowing the man in question’s side.

“Uh… right” Enjolras confirmed.

Grantaire shifted on his feet, watching the two of them in stunned silence. Was he truly supposed to stay here? Left to quiet confines of Enjolras’ flat, doomed to suffer the weight of his drunken self’s decisions once again.

“Perfect! Remember, Enjolras, what’s yours is also dear Grantaire’s”  Courfeyrac rejoiced “Now, we really do have to get going… Combeferre said something about a Skype call with another activist group, and we all know how Enjolras insists all three of us be there.” which is true, the inseparable Triumvirate usually deal with recruiting other activist groups together - with all of them there, they’re usually unstoppable in convincing others to join in arms.

“You” he continued, turning to Enjolras “owe me breakfast for my troubles” he sang. Courfeyrac swiftly swung open the door with his free hand, staying interlaced with Enjolras’ arm.

“Wonderful” Enjolras grumbled, which was the last thing Grantaire heard before the door clicked behind them.

 

**-**

 

“Seriously, Enjolras! I mean, I was at least eighty per cent sure you were kidding about all of that.” Courfeyrac was skipping as they walked the distance to Combeferre’s, looking over his shoulder to assure himself the Enjolras was still shooting him daggering looks. “Don’t look at me like that. We all knew you and Grantaire would fall in bed together for some hot, steamy, sweaty-”

“Courf…” Enjolras pleaded.

A blush crept across Enjolras’ cheeks, painting him in bright red for thinking about Grantaire in any way. This isn’t the first time Courf had poked and prodded with comments about Grantaire, he was aware of the other man’s habit of staring and making lewd excuses for flirtations. Enjolras pleaded each time that Courfeyrac was simply making something from Grantaire’s mockery. Grantaire was fooling him around, belittling him each time. In Enjolras’ eyes, it was a rather childish game to keep playing.

As far as their relationship goes, it is almost entirely consistent of Grantaire refusing to support a single one of Enjolras’ ideas. He was kind at first, Les Amis adopted him to their small circles with ease. Grantaire spoke to Enjolras softly, he’d even been rumoured to spread his suggestions to his friends to put forward, being too afraid to cause a stir. Enjolras liked these sides to Grantaire, which he still saw in the dancing of fingers in Jehan’s hair, the way he looks after Joly during early mornings while Musichetta works her shift, he always listens to Combeferre’s ramblings in content silence, or lets Bahorel win their card games. There was a time where Enjolras almost yearned to be gifted with this side to Grantaire, yet he never met him. This gentle fabrication of Grantaire that Enjolras constructed, a once helpful contribution, flew out of hand after Grantaire showed up late to a meeting. Enjolras denies the fact he treated Grantaire unfairly, scathing comments flew back and forth that meeting - Grantaire became openly mocking, tormenting Enjolras while he spoke. For years following, their interactions grew more cutting, distant, and outright unbearable. So, no. Enjolras did not find himself wanting to fall in bed with Grantaire anytime soon.

_ Yet, here he was. _ A sigh escaped him.

“Enjolras” Courfeyrac whined “How can you expect me to keep this from our dearest, closest, friends if you won’t give me an outlet for all my feelings! Three years of feelings, Enjolras!”

“I was hoping you could just keep secrets, like everyone else” he grumbled, scanning the streets around for anyone they knew.

He had no intentions of this ever getting out - including ever telling Courfeyrac. Enjolras felt on edge, like he’s been holding a breath since the moment he checked his mail this morning. Partly out of fear of being teased and forced into embarrassment for years to come, and partly out of fear of his friends thinking him cruel. After too many meetings, Enjolras has been on the receiving end of lectures from his friends, urging him to be more considerate with Grantaire’s feeling (despite never receiving an ounce of respect in return). Enjolras didn’t do this to be cruel - he doesn’t know why he did it at all - if anything, it is hurting him much more than it appears to be hurting Grantaire. He thinks back to their moments in the kitchen, Grantaire had been eager to keep his distance from him and seemed more than content to continue with his cutting comments.

“Keep hoping, Enjolras! It’s what keeps us alive!” he commented.

Enjolras violently rolled his eyes behind Courfeyrac’s back, and he tugged his leather jacket closer to his chest and pattered down the metro steps. Their train was relatively quiet, but Enjolras and Courfeyrac stood with palms cautiously gripping the metal pole. Courfeyrac, thank god, moved on to discussing the new group they’re supposed to be meeting. They’re small, situated on the outskirts of the city, but they have connections, he’s heard Courfeyrac talk about pulling them for weeks. This meeting is important, Enjolras needs to be on his game. Enjolras, who was fully aware of Courfeyrac’s sentences fading, and the fact his concentration on the blurring flash which announced the metro stops, spent most of the journey thinking about his situation with Grantaire. It should be simple. They can go back to their everyday lives, and break the news to Courfeyrac.  _ It didn’t work out, we shouldn’t have rushed into it, it was a political statement _ . Enjolras has a rush of excuses and backup excuses. He has no idea why he hasn’t given up and said one to him.

Courfeyrac had practically skipped into his flat this morning, whisking him away from Grantaire, proudly bubbling about how he “finally got it together” and that he apparently “looked so happy he hasn’t felt prouder”. Enjolras’ felt the guilt pool at his feet, and burn into cement as he let out a weak smile. He had let Courfeyrac continue his flow of congratulations, his throat completely sealed as his friend bounced around him. It was a stupid decision to make, not wanting to hurt Courfeyrac’s feelings because it is going to hurt him more as he continues his vow of silence and cycle of small smiles.  _ “Grantaire doesn’t want to tell anyone” _ was all he could will himself to say, selfishly sliding away from the blame. Enjolras wasn’t wrong, so to speak, technically Grantaire agreed he didn’t want anyone to know. Still, Enjolras’ limbs felt heavy as he dragged his way out the door. Shock still steady, shaking next to him like a shadow.

Vague recognition of Courfeyrac’s leading hand guided him towards Combeferre’s building. The rattling of keys shook Enjolras from his dreaming haze, and he watched with fond eyes as Courfeyrac raced up four flights of stairs, grinning when reached the top just to be met by Courfeyrac doubled over, hand braced against the wall as he caught his breath.

“I win” he practically panted, toothy smile plastered across his face.

“You always win, Courf. Let’s just go…” and to Enjolras’ surprise, Courfeyrac straightened, pointing his nose towards the ceiling as he walked proudly into Combeferre’s living room.

 

“Honey, I’m home!” Courfeyrac greeted the empty corridor, shuffling off his shoes and stripping himself of his denim. Enjolras followed suit, catching a cold against his arms as Courfeyrac strode passed.

Combeferre leant against his countertop, and Enjolras begging his brain to ignore any comparisons to how he saw Grantaire this morning. Combeferre stood tall, gently holding his coffee mug (a handmade gift from Feuilly many Christmas’ ago) with both hands. He took small sips, lifting the mug to clash with round-framed glasses slowly steaming up from the heat. Courfeyrac began fumbling around with ‘Ferre’s computer, talking over their proposal while ‘Ferre hummed occasionally in response. The pair’s energy balancing out, as Courfeyrac revelled in the morning sun brightly enough for ‘Ferre to take his time coming around to the idea of being fully functional. Enjolras’ watched on, leaning against the doorframe and relishing in the company of his friends.

“Okay, Enjolras” Courfeyrac began, capturing his attention “This meeting cost many weeks of hard bargaining, criminal activity, and my own leg to set up.”

“He emailed them twice a day until they said yes” ‘Ferre added.

“Same difference. Anyway, they’re not big on alliances, think we “ _ get too much attention for being troublemakers _ ” which… is true… but they shouldn’t know that. We need to really focus on the attention we got on our last social media campaign, a lot of them are really big on LGBT campaigns which we can use against them.”

“Which is a polite way to tell me not to waste time talking about other important issues” Enjolras retorted, rolling his eyes semi-playfully as he joined Courfeyrac.

“Ah,  _ mon amour _ , you know they are never a waste to us” he added, kissing him sloppily on the cheek - recoiling in fake-hurt as Enjolras wiped the same spot with the back of his hand. “They are giving us 20 minutes, and I think we can divide up enough time for all of us to spread our charms”

Enjolras was confident about this and spoke within his element about their latest petition and their plans for the upcoming June. Enjolras burst with passion about their mission side by side with Combeferre, who spoke calmly about their success, and levelled Enjolras’ energy with a subtle charm, while Courfeyrac focussed on their social media support, making them laugh with ease and convincing them they were a group worth standing beside.

They collapsed back against their seats as their call ended. Enjolras smiled widely at them both. Without them both, he could have never made the push to recruit so many people. Together, they were on a hopeful path to making a real change - Enjolras could never be more grateful for them both, which he vocalised at any given opportunity.

“You’re a huge softy at heart, Enjolras!” Courfeyrac awed, squishing together his cheeks and proceeding to nest against his shoulder, curls tickling the base of his neck.

Combeferre took shelter, bringing the turtleneck of his jumper up towards his chin, humming softly with sleepy eyes, leaning back against the morning sun. With sweater paws, he reached towards the newspaper reciting headlines from the muffled comfort of his jumper. He wasn’t sure how long they stayed there like that, in a slow debate about the news stories, chuckling along with Courfeyrac’s odd comments against the reporters. Enjolras could have happily stayed there for the rest of the morning, basking in his productivity. In his mind, declared this moment eternal, but Courfeyrac shut that down, throwing his morning back into reality as he leaned into his ear and whispered

“Shouldn’t you be heading home, lover boy”

Enjolras grimaced, bringing his own hand to cover Courfeyrac’s mouth. No. He doesn’t want to head home one bit. He wants to stay here, and hide away until he melts into Combeferre’s couch because in Combeferre’s couch that reality does not exist. Yes, that sounds lovely. No Grantaire… Perfect. Instead, all he got was a palm now covered in slobber from Courfeyrac - pulling back in disgust.

“Now now, Enjolras! No need to be so rude. I’m sure you have a lot of work you need to be doing.”

Combeferre raised his head, releasing himself from his jumper in curiosity. Enjolras pouted his bottom lip like a toddler. Another chance to come out with the truth, he thinks, but under the dreadful duo’s questioning glares, he unwrapped his legs with a heavy sigh.

“I should get going. It was good to see you,  _ ‘Ferre _ ” he said pointedly, glare fixated on Courfeyrac.

“Ouch, Enjolras. Truly. After all I do for you” he warned. Enjolras knew he was kidding, Courfeyrac isn’t the type to resort to blackmail - on this level - but it still made Enjolras hiss in fear.

Combeferre chuckled, though. “I’ll see you later, right?”. _ Right _ , it was their usual meeting night. With news like this, Enjolras had no excuse for cancelling.

“Right” he grumbled, and if ‘Ferre noticed his tone, he didn’t mention it, and returned to his second mug of coffee instead.

“I’ll walk you to the door!” Courfeyrac shot, rising and stumbling over his feet to catch up to Enjolras.

“Was that really necessary?” he questioned Courfeyrac as he shuffled back into his coat.

“I don’t like lying to ‘Ferre, Enjolras…” Courfeyrac whispered.

Enjolras really hadn’t taken a moment to consider the impacts of asking Courfeyrac to lie for him. He had clearly been on a roll for acting selfishly recently. Enjolras sighed, crouching down to pick up his shoes, pointedly ignoring Courfeyrac’s sad gaze

“It’s only for a little while, Courfeyrac…”  _ Was it? How long did Enjolras really plan on keeping this secret up? _ “I’ll tell him soon” Enjolras sighed, words sounding false as he purposefully sounded vague. This was going to be a nightmare.

“I hope so” was all Courfeyrac responded with, but remained perched on the wall as Enjolras tied his laces.

“Just say it, Courf’” he said, prepared for some lecture, or criticism for his obviously poor life choices.

“I’m just really happy for you, Enjolras”

Enjolras almost tripped over his own feet, catching himself off guard - literally. Yeah, Enjolras really did hate this. His heart sunk, a small smile forced his way across Enjolras’ lips as he looked up at his friend.

“Thank you” Enjolras whispered, more to the floor than to Courfeyrac.

He braced himself upwards, being met in a bone-crushing hug by Courfeyrac. Arms hung loosely at his side, caught in guilt and shock before hugging his friend back weakly. Part of Enjolras wished Courfeyrac wouldn’t let go, from the comfort of his friend's arms Enjolras was convinced he could somehow stay safe from it all and thought he would never have to go back to his flat - to Grantaire - if somehow he was stuck in Courfeyrac’s warmth. This was just another disappointment, as Courfeyrac tugged on the collars of his jacket, gave a big smile and twirled him towards the door of Combeferre’s front door.

“Go get ‘em, tiger” he whispered, ushering him out into the cold with one swift movement - closing the door with a soft click before Enjolras’ could retaliate.

He was left in the emptiness of the stairwell, stuck again with his thoughts, contemplating exactly what he was supposed to say to Grantaire when he returned home. Would he even still be there? Enjolras certainly wouldn’t put it passed Grantaire to have fled, left Enjolras to deal with this alone. His stomach twisted at the thought of Grantaire smug face greeting him at his door when Enjolras’ returned home. Dread dragged his feet home with heavy resistance, retracing his steps back towards his impending doom. Paris seems colder, clouds have covered the glittering sun that peaked through Combeferre’s window. Enjolras hugged his jacket around his chest and trudged on forward.

 

**-**

 

Unwilling to allow himself to go through Enjolras’ things, not wanting to get any ideas that Enjolras is  _ human _ , he opted to curl up on the very far end of his sofa, using his hoodie as a blanket to rest in the lonely company of the early morning. As soon as Enjolras had left, exhaustion consumed him. Grantaire couldn’t quite decide if exhaustion was his lack of sleep creeping up on him, or the heavy weight of this situation, which collapsed with him into a dreamless sleep.

Grantaire jolted awake to the heavy thud of Enjolras collapsing onto the couch. Like a cat, he curled his toes and stifled a yawn against his own shoulder. He slowly unravelled, untucking his legs and leaning further into the couch’s steely arms - creating as much distance between him and Enjolras as humanly possible. Enjolras remained rigid, neck craning against the cushions to stare at the patterns along the ceiling, so Grantaire kept to himself, watching his knuckles with absent intensity as he fidgeted with his fingers in his lap.

“Courfeyrac was there” he admits after a length of silence. “He thinks we’re married”

“We are married,  _ honey _ ” he spat in cold retort - no affection filtering through his words.

Grantaire was frustrated. It wasn’t very often that Grantaire truly believed he doesn’t deserve the hurt he receives from Enjolras, but right now, he is rather convinced that this morning was too much. He knows Enjolras doesn’t like him, he wasn’t oblivious to think Enjolras would turn to comfort him, reassure him, they didn’t have that kind of relationship. Grantaire was used to being shut down by Enjolras, far too aware of how lowly Enjolras thought of him. There was no chance for redemption here, so no, Grantaire didn’t expect any grand gesture of genuine affections. However, Enjolras dropping a bomb the size of Paris itself, that they were  _ married _ , and leaving without barely acknowledging him. Grantaire felt right to be slightly pissed here.

Enjolras just sighed. “No, he thinks we’re  _ married _ . He told me he was  _ happy for me, _ Grantaire.” and if Grantaire didn’t know better, he would think Enjolras sounded pained.

“So how did you break the news, huh? If we’re breaking the news that we managed to make the worlds biggest mistake, I should get my one free phone call.” Grantaire explained.

Honestly, Grantaire isn’t even sure who he would tell. Combeferre and Courfeyrac must already be disappointed in him for ruining their best friend. Jehan and Joly are far too sweet to give him anything without pitiful exchanges - which Grantaire did not need right now. Bahorel, maybe? A good drink or a fight (or both) might be exactly what Grantaire needs to get this terrible feeling from his gut.

“I didn’t tell him anything” Enjolras confesses, eyes fixed on the ceiling - avoiding Grantaire’s pleading eyes, there was no way his ceiling was that captivating.

“What do you mean you didn’t tell him anything, Enjolras?” Grantaire questioned, somehow under the impression he must have heard Enjolras wrong. There was no way he needed to deal with this on top of everything.

“Did I stutter, Grantaire?” he replies, lifting himself from the couch and daring to walk away from this -  _ a fucking theme _ , Grantaire thought.

“No, you must have. Unless you’re telling me one of our closest friends is out there thinking we are a fucking newlywed couple!” he shouted after him, throwing himself up to follow him into the kitchen.

“He was happy about it, Grantaire. I couldn’t say anything to him”

“Ha!” he huffed “Surely you didn’t finally find yourself lost for words?”

They shuffled into the kitchen. Grantaire had neatly packed away the file of research and useless legal papers to one side before Enjolras returned, sick to the sight of them all taunting his masochistic heart. Enjolras said nothing as he used an empty glass to refill the filter of the coffee machine, focusing wholeheartedly on the task in front of him instead of a pathetically flailing Grantaire behind him.

“What exactly are you planning on doing, Enjolras? Huh?” he asked to no avail. Enjolras slammed the lid to his coffee maker, harshly treating the buttons necessary to pour his drink. He braced himself against the counter, entering a staring match as the coffee slowly trickled into a mug representing some charity Grantaire’s long forgotten. “Look at me!” he cried back, striding towards Enjolras and throwing his pale hands on top of Enjolras’.

Enjolras turned to face him, his eyes looked tired and downright dejected. “I told him we were keeping it a secret” he sighed, and Grantaire’s hunched shoulders softened, because he is incapable of staying angry with Enjolras like this.

“Well at least you didn’t lie about that” he consoled.

Enjolras barked a burst of laughter escaping him as he shook his head. “But I am lying” he adds.

“What do you need me to do?” is all Grantaire says. He can’t exactly pretend Enjolras isn’t lying or that he isn’t forcing him to lie by proxy, but hey, following Enjolras like a lost puppy isn’t exactly new for either of them.

“Nothing” Enjolras admits “No one else knows”

“Yet” Grantaire concedes.

“Yet”, and Enjolras lowers his head.

“You know… it shouldn’t be too hard. Just… keep telling Courfeyrac this is a happy relationship while also being legally married. If he’s not there, we don’t need to be fake-anything. Not so hard. Considering”  _ considering Courfeyrac already knows I’m in love with you, asshole. _

“There are a thousand variables, Grantaire. This is way too complicated.”

“Yeah, and who’s fault is that?” Grantaire strikes, recoiling his hand to rest on his hip. It wasn’t exactly Grantaire’s decision to lie to his friends. On a list of drunken mistakes, his friends would definitely believe he’d done worse. No, he was doing this for Enjolras’ sake, and the man couldn’t even spare him the second thought.

Enjolras nursed the bridge of his nose “I know.” he sighed.

“Great. So I’ll just go?”. Nothing. “You call me if you need to sign anything,  _ honey _ .”

With that, he turned to leave - following in Enjolras’ tracks like a hypocrite. He dragged his feet to Enjolras’ couch, reaching out to grab his hoodie before he could change his mind. This was for the best. If everything goes to plan, he can go back to sulking in his moulding flat and wallowing in self-pity and alcohol.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two dumb idiots too stubborn to stop suffering - evidence no.12984329082.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey! remember when i said to myself i would update this weekly? well, it's two weeks later but i hope you guys enjoy another attempt at making this plot go somewhere
> 
> this is mainly some level of filler and introducing characters a little more in some way to show Grantaire and Enjolras' parallels? who knows.

The slam of the door sent a shockwave through Enjolras’ spine. He stared down at his cooling coffee, great. Grantaire had left him in this alone, just because Enjolras had predicted it, doesn’t mean he wasn’t disappointed.

It wasn’t Enjolras’ fault Grantaire was choosing to pretend this wasn’t a big deal. “ _Not so hard”_ , ha! Sure. Enjolras seethed at every word Grantaire had put out, and he was supposed to talk about him to _his best friend_ like he was happily in love.

Enjolras slammed his fist down and pushed away from the counter. He left his coffee where it boiled.

There wasn’t time to waste on Grantaire deciding to be childish about this. He had the whole day to himself, he could be doing something far better than giving himself a throbbing headache. The meeting tonight seemed a spot in the distance, but Enjolras knew the speech he prepared would have to be postponed for the group to focus - and inevitably celebrate - their new allies. So, he was lost for things to do. His apartment having a sudden feeling of emptiness despite Enjolras being the only one who is ever there. With a heavy heart and gritting teeth, he sulked into his room. There was always work…

Work he couldn’t focus on one bit. Every book and piece of paper blurred into mixtures of black and white. His brain short-circuited, and his concentration cut relentlessly. Enjolras’ mind fought against him, pulling him away from his one welcome distraction.

He fell backwards in his chair, groaning at nothing as he stretched outwards. He slid his hand into his jeans, too lazy to change, and pulled out his phone.

For a small moment, a hint of a smile spread along his face as he looked at his phone screen - a photo Grantaire had taken of Enjolras, Courfeyrac, and Combeferre at their annual Pride event. They all wore plastering and genuine smiles, glitter glistening and stretching up to their ears - at Courfeyrac’s demand. The sunlight splashed all over them, bouncing off their faces, protest signs leaning behind them - long forgotten in the dizzying haze of the day (and cocktails). Beyond Enjolras’ window, the sun was long forgotten, hiding away in the clouds and refusing to shine against Enjolras’ curls.

[ _Enjolras_ 10:38:21] _are you busy?_

There was a long wait, and Enjolras stared at the light peeking against the wall until the room rang with an echoing ping of his phone.

[ _Courfeyrac_ 10:43:54] _picking Feuilly up from Gare du Nord with Ferre :( miss me already, ange?_

[ _Enjolras_ 10:44:12] _you wish. Nothing important._

The small airing sound announced the text has sent, Enjolras swiped back on his phone, eyes casting over his text to Grantaire this morning. “Sure” was all his phone read against the cold grey bubble. Enjolras chose not to dwell on it. Only, he was left alone again, and there was nothing else to dwell on BUT Grantaire.

It was clear that no matter how hard Enjolras forced his brain into overdrive, he was not going to piece together how he got here. Not that he’d admit it, but it overstepped wishful thinking when he assumed Grantaire would remember either. Joly, unsuspectedly, was the culpable deviant tasked with bringing Enjolras an array of cocktails through the night. Strangers flushed against his shoulder, offering already tipsy Enjolras drinks he can’t remember the name of, but felt the bitter taste of the days after. Granted, he admits his tolerance for alcohol was far from strong, especially compared to his other friends. This time, however, it was Enjolras his friends guided towards the centre of the dancefloor. His fingers interlaced with another’s (Enjolras doesn’t recall who, and actively chooses to believe he was amongst friends, maybe Jehan) high in the air as they guided themselves between feverish bodies - losing themselves in the movements of hips and the drilling beat of the music. It may have been two drinks or twenty before his mind recalls any pictures of Grantaire. It was Enjolras who pushed himself through the crowds towards him, draping himself across the other’s back and pulling him half-heartedly away from his company.

 

_“Dance with me!” Enjolras had cried, eyes ablaze and hands eagerly pulling against Grantaire’s. “Grantaiiiireeee! Let’s go!” his voice had whined._

_Grantaire had interlaced his fingers with Enjolras, beckoning him onwards with a grin spread across his lips, and passion pierced into blue eyes. Enjolras pulled them both along and pressed himself against Grantaire’s torso in the midst of the crowded dance floor - their friends no longer in sight. Enjolras flung his head backwards, losing himself in the drumming against his skin, hips moving in harmony with Grantaires - their fingers still interlaced on their left, but clinging to each other on their right. Grantaire’s hand moved in time with Enjolras’ hips, and Enjolras threw himself back using Grantaire to hold himself steady._

_Songs faded into each other, all heavy bass and electronic remixes of the same pop songs - Enjolras memory blurred together, all-consumed by the alcohol on the tip of his lips and the smell of Grantaire’s deodorant. Enjolras moved to meet Grantaire’s eyes, flooded with lust themselves. Hands tangled themselves in Enjolras’ curls, moving the strands of his own blond locks stuck to his forehead with sweat. They hesitated for a second, bodies colliding with their own, pushing against them until Enjolras flew firmly into Grantaire’s chest, and hands glided to grip onto Grantaire’s shirt for support._

 

Enjolras groaned. His brain incapable of piecing together any vision of what happened after he peeled himself from Grantaire’s torso. He pulled his hands through his hair, letting it fall against his shoulders, shuddering away from the feeling of Grantaire and any memory of that night as far as he could wish it.

There was no way for Enjolras to blame any other force other than his own in this situation. It was his hands that pulled Grantaire away, who pulled him into dancing under the danger of the club’s dancing, his hands that found home in his shirt. The night was clearly him at his worst - thoughts far from coherent and movements guided by the sickening taste of alcohol.

Right now, his blank thoughts and selfishness could not be excused by Joly’s cocktails, he is supposed to be a man of action, yet, he stared into nothingness, flooded by the feeling of helplessness, and embarrassment. This was the worst thing Enjolras had done, and it wasn’t something he knew how to fix. Enjolras, this time, was unsure of what to do. He had dug his own grave. The guilt securing him in his metaphorical grave, his lies screwing the lid closed.

Enjolras knew this was wallowing - staring at the end of his room and feeling pity for himself. He could sit and pretend he was a victim rather than being at fault for this, or he supposes, he could get up and do something. Get up and do what, though?

 

[ _Enjolras_ 11:30:54] _I’m sorry._

Grantaire scoffed. Sorry, my ass. On cue, Grantaire lifted himself up from his spot to go raid his fridge. On his own behalf, Grantaire had decided his heart would feel far more settled if he drowned Enjolras’ apology in his week-old box wine. In fact, that sounded tremendous.  

Grantaire, in his drunken glory, did not have the energy to fight against Enjolras’ sudden pity party for him. What was he even sorry for? Their half-a-conversation way of communicating gave his headache a headache. Enjolras never apologises, never tells Grantaire anything, never spares him a thought. He shouldn’t go breaking their consistency now, and neither should Grantaire, who was already filling his wine glass far passed etiquette. In the name of consistency.

He sulked his way back to the couch, completely prepared to waste away until stars filled the sky, and he drunk his memory away. Of course, some higher power somewhere had decided that nothing will go his way today, and the clattering of pots on his balcony announced the arrival of Jehan. Grantaire watched his stumbling feet dance around the balcony, raising his wine glass in greeting as Jehan pulled his window back to worm their way inside.

“What am I, that thou shouldst contemn me this?” Grantaire quotes, hands clutching his heart with theatrical precision as his poet fell through the window.

Jehan blushed, tucking loose hair behind their ear. “I was visiting Feuilly.” They said with a smile, striding over to join Grantaire in his collapsed position. “Thought I’d… _drop by_ ” they added, smug to the core.

Grantaire let out a teasing groan “You’re awful, Prouvaire” he declared, not meaning it in the slightest.

Jehan just smiled, swiping Grantaire’s wine glass to nurse between their fingers, taking generous sips before offering it back. Grantaire just mumbled, falling with equal grace into Jehan’s folded lap.

Hands flew to tangle in his hair. Jehan dropping in wasn’t an uncommon occurrence. In fact, Jehan did possess a copy of his key, they just refuse to use it. The two of them often waste away their afternoons in each others company. Jehan was often quiet, sometimes letting Grantaire talk like he was performing on stage - most often they just lay there, nursing each other's thoughts with silent hands.

It took a certain level of precision and caution to continue sipping his wine from this position, but Grantaire was blessed with artists’ hands. They lay there in company listening to the sound of wine leaving Grantaire’s glass until an empty click echoed around them. Grantaire wanted another, but his limbs feel heavy in his friend's lap and he wasn’t sure there was any energy left in him to leave the warmth. Hands stretched weakly before coming to an ungraceful fall across Jehan’s knee - flopping in an energy-less but nonetheless desperate attempt to capture Jehan’s attention. More moments of silence passed, before Grantaire let small-remnants of a whine, calling for Jehan with as little movement as possible.

“Do you want to talk about it, Grantaire?” Jehan almost whispered, fingers curling between his hair.

“More wine”

Jehan let out a breathy laugh “but what would that help?” they asked. Speaking into the air what Grantaire knew should be asked, but was looking to avoid.

Grantaire rolled from Jehan’s lap, disconnecting himself from their warm embrace and falling hard onto his wood floor. Painful, yes, but not as painful as Grantaire can imagine the conversation being. He purposefully averted his eyes away from Jehan’s, who was surely watching him with a sad gaze. Always kind, but sad nonetheless.

“It would help.” Grantaire simply stated, wrong by technicality but far too engulfed in his sorrow to care.

Grantaire just pushed himself off the floor, ignored the shuffling of Jehan’s bare feet following behind him. Jehan’s hand rested on his shoulder so slightly Grantaire could mistake them for a ghost. There was no forceful grip, no harshness that he shared with Enjolras earlier. Jehan was gentle, blowing soft smiles across his shoulder. The touch was tender. It made Grantaire stop in his tracks better than force, he was glued there in slow admit of defeat.

“It’s all I’ve got, Jehan.” he pleaded, head hanging low.

Again, wrong by technicality, he had things. He could paint, he could go outside - walk, visit people, find new places. Grantaire was far too aware that alcohol was the worst of his options. Though, Gantaire was not proud to admit in the hollow emptiness of his kitchen that what he means is that the stupid, cracking box of wine in front of him was the only thing Grantaire _knew_ would make him feel better. It was something he knew far too well.

“You’ve got me”

Grantaire let out a quiet laugh, one breath that was lost to the air. Jehan’s touch didn’t shake, didn’t move. They stayed firm in their position until Grantaire felt ready to turn to face them. Even if he was certain his smile was too weak to feel real, Jehan made no comment - they followed his moves with a beaming smile.

“Tea.” Jehan announced, slender figure manoeuvring their way between Grantaire’s back and the counter to mess around with his kettle - filling the room with the sound of boiling water.

Jehan pulled Grantaire by the sleeves of his clothes back towards their safe haven, afternoon sun filtering through the windows and casting sunbeams across the living room. Dust danced like fairies in the sunlight around Grantaire as he flicked his gaze towards all his walls, patiently waiting for Jehan to return with tea. He sat quietly, listening out for the pitter patter of their movements that announced his friend inching closer, and the slow clink of the mug against the table.

“You don’t have coasters” Jehan finally spoke, slotting in next to Grantaire as they always do.

“I’ll put it on the list” he grumbled.

Jehan made no move to speak, letting out nothing more than a non-committal hum. Grantaire hated it. Though he’d never spoken it, he was aware of Jehan’s patience and careful way of helping their friends. Their actions spoke louder than words when the occasion rose to it, silently sitting at Grantaire’s side - reminding him they were there, letting Grantaire be ready. Grantaire wasn’t sure he was going to be ready, but he hated the silence. Jehan was kind, letting Grantaire hide behind his metaphorical band-aid, not daring to rip it off for him despite the wounds being more than visible to the deceptive little poet. So, the silence continued.

And continued.

“I can’t talk about it,” he spoke out.

Another hum. The silence continues.

“I promised” he tries again.

Although, no, technically he didn’t promise anything. Technically, there was nothing stopping Grantaire from breaking out of the hold that Enjolras’ fleeting trust had on him - he did nothing to earn Grantaire’s loyalty, he is getting nothing in return. No, he is just being as loyal to Enjolras as a lapdog is to his owner.

Jehan took a big sip of their tea and settled it next to Grantaire’s full mug. They lay back, taking another pause to think which pained Grantaire more than was visible.

“So, I’m working on a creative piece for my module this term, and I did some really interesting research into medieval poetry. You know, trying to find the poetry that would have inspired Shakespeare because there’s this huge and overrated focus on his sonnets - you say no words on how Shakespeare deserved his recognition this time, and listen” they add pointedly, as if they could feel the movement in Grantaire’s jaw, because yes, he was going to say that

“Thank you. Now… of course medieval poetry is such a broad topic, but if you really go back enough....”

Jehan continues, gushing about the importance of Pagan history and how happy they were to come across spoken poetry records that old. Grantaire falls into the sound of their voice. Grateful for the distraction, he settles into the back of the couch, distant gaze following the poet’s gesturing hand’s, smiling when they smile, humming and letting them talk. Grantaire focuses on and off, taking in as much as he can with his tired mind. He asks questions, probes them further to revel in their brave volunteering to fill the room with friendly chatter. Jehan buzzes under the stimulation, flicking sparks of their own passion around the room. They sing harmonies of medieval poetry, even begins the Renaissance debate as the sun burns out and their tea goes cold.

Grantaire settles, his brain elsewhere. Far from the morning, far from Enjolras, far from self-destruction. This is peaceful. Grantaire rarely gets captivated, his own brain buzzing far too frequently to fall into tranquillity very often. The room feels warmer than the embrace of his wine had felt. This was better. Just this once, he let this be better.

 

Feuilly came with a knock at what felt like hours later, but was still actually afternoon - the bleached sun just tucked between clouds. Grantaire rose to get to the door, untangling limbs, scuffing his feet across the floor as he walked.

"You stole my Jehan!" Feuilly testified, following towards Jehan's silent grabbing-hands motions from the couch.

"They stayed willingly"

"Not sure why" they both harmonised in retort from their new position on the couch - Jehan mimicking Grantaire, warm auburn hair spread across Feuilly.

Grantaire joined on the floor in front of them, arching his neck upwards to face both of them as they engaged in mindless chatter - Feuilly's customer's at work with a shocking vendetta against their coffee cup, Jehan's student who proudly refuses to use disposable cups, and a reminiscent tale of Bahorel's adventures with a group at Arc De Triomphe Du Carrousel last December.

It was peaceful, enough for Grantaire to finally lose his worries, until the mumbling and untangling of limbs snapped shut the daydream. Jehan stretched his legs upwards in unprofound flexibility, while Feuilly attempted to click all 33 of his backbones.

“Are you coming, ‘Taire?” Jehan wondered.

Grantaire wondered too because he has no idea where they might be going. Grantaire, admittedly, had no idea the time or day. Confusion must have shown on his face, as Feuilly noticed the small tilt of his head in bewilderment.

“The Musain,” Feuilly added in a whisper (pointless, since Jehan was close to him than Grantaire was.)

Grantaire swallowed. “No, I don’t think that’s a good idea”

“Why?” Feuilly asked.

Feuilly was the only one in the room to express such curiosity, as Grantaire stared at Jehan with pleading eyes. Jehan, who has probably figured out that Grantaire’s troubles have something to do with The Musain, and therefore Enjolras (it’s always Enjolras), made no move to push him on the matter.

Any other day, it might even sting to think that he considered the idea of not going. He has - drunk or sober - attended every meeting they’ve had. Grantaire, so desperate in his attempts have wasted hours of his life in the corner of Enjolras’ eye. It was easier, once he made friends. No dragging of his feet as he left, the echoing reply of scathing comments replaced with bubbly laughter of whoever walked him home. Now, he saw his friends all the time, and have all spread wide across Paris in arms together - except Enjolras. There was no reason for Grantaire to attend the meetings anymore, to feign interest or be tortured by hopeless optimism. No reason but to see Enjolras, and right now, Grantaire wasn’t sure if he wanted to see Enjolras - having enough of his fill of disappointment and embarrassment to last a month's worth of meetings.

“I have some sketches to finish” Grantaire rushed.

“Finish them at the Musain. You always seem to find some inspiration there” Feuilly jokes, earning a stiff smile from Jehan which must go unnoticed

“I can’t”

“Why?” Feuilly parrots.

Frustration bloomed in Grantaire, with nowhere to go and nothing to blame but himself. Why couldn’t he go to the Musain? Feuilly is only asking innocent questions, it’s Grantaire that is hiding from Enjolras, from his situation and from himself.

If he could criticise Enjolras for his cowardice, he could surely laugh at himself.

“I’ll get my sketchbook” he mumbles, avoiding Jehan’s worry as he slid between them and shuffled through piles of unfinished work amidst his flat

 

If anyone asked, Enjolras was simply checking the time, reading his emails, looking at the weather. What he wasn’t doing, was looking for a reply from Grantaire. Hours had passed since his apology reached Grantaire, even more since their discovery, the small little “seen” has started mocking him below his text.

“Enjolras” Combeferre whispered “we really should get started.” head tilting to where Bahorel and Courfeyrac were engaged in attempts to drink their drinks with their hands behind their backs.

“Right” he conceded, locking his phone and forcing a theatrical cough to get the attention of everyone.

Enjolras sighed, energy clearing from him. His day far too draining, he had been unfocused all day - hoping the passion which bubbled in his chest would be enough to ignite the leading version of himself he needed right now.

Grantaire wasn’t coming. It was clear that he had seen Enjolras’ apology, but it wasn’t enough for things to calm down. Hurt echoed around Enjolras’ chest as the truth hit him harder with each ring - Grantaire was hurt. Enjolras’ knows it wouldn’t be the first time he’d caused Grantaire to leave upset, angered by Enjolras’ sharp tongue. Something hurt differently this time around, though. Enjolras wasn’t known for taking the blame in his disputes for Grantaire. This time he felt guilty. He was too much to blame for whatever feelings Grantaire had towards them. It wasn’t helping their situation at all, the whole predicament far less manageable without Grantaire’s help on the matter.

Yes, it was Enjolras fault his friends, and Grantaire was missing. If Feuilly and Jehan had given no warning to being absent, it was almost obvious they were offering some comfort to him - the three of them mostly inseparable during times.

“Now, it’s evident that _some_ people are missing” he continued onwards to a smaller crowd than he was used to - not noting how empty the room was without Grantaire _at all_ “but we have some important business to look over in regards to the recent climate change strikes”

“Jehan covered that, remember? He was very passionate about being the one to write up this article, Enjy!” Coufeyrac called.

Enjolras took a moment. Jehan was the one who had asked to cover the protest - dragging any Ami's available to the Pantheon monument amongst thousands to participate. Enjolras, Combeferre, and Bossuet all ended up ditching their classes to contribute. It was an important topic to cover, Enjolras knew what was going on, but it was Jehan who took a special interest in the cause and Enjolras couldn’t refuse the passion riddled over their face.

“Did someone call my name?” A voice - Jehan - called from the bannister, long hair falling over the wood from their position on the stairs.

Thanking his stars, Enjolras exhaled. A grin broadened across his face as Jehan strolled over to the table at the back - Grantaire’s table.

“Cannot BELIEVE you dragged me all the way over here witho-”

“No, I think you’ll find it was YOU who decided we needed to stop for a second cigarette break” Two extra voices grew louder, and footsteps rang closer as Enjolras came to the realisation of what was unfolding here.

“Feuilly, you have no grasp on the concept of addiction and you joined me for both those cigar-”

The room was mostly silent as they entered, eyes mostly on Feuilly and Grantaire talking as they walked upwards to their second home - save for Jehan who had curled into a second-hand armchair they smuggled to sort an abundance of mismatched paper from torn parchment to printed documents. Enjolras, eyebrows both raised more in shock than question, gawked at the pair who stood frozen in their positions, the rest of his friends staring at them in silent amusement.

“Good evening” Grantaire choked eyes pointedly on the opposite side of the room to where Enjolras stood. “Would have, uh, been here sooner but-”

“Grantaire needed to chain smoke his way along the Seine” Feuilly finished for him, sliding passed him on the stairs to greet everyone.

“Right. That I did.” Grantaire murmured, skipping his greetings to sulk his way over to Jehan - unfolding his sketchbook and trying to escape through the paper.

Chatter arose in the room again, warm room light bursting across the Musain in a sweet blend between coffee beans and alcohol buzzing around everyone. Enjolras looked through his friends, talking across tables with vibrant laughs, focusing instead on Grantaire looking solemn in his position. The man who usually filled the room with roaring laughter, and delayed every gathering with elaborate conversations and greetings, faded into the back of his seat - hunched over in his solitude.

Enjolras sighed, and tore his gaze away “Like I was saying” he continued, raising his voice just enough to capture everyone’s attention “Important matters, remember?”.

A mixture of hushing and a distant “aye aye” flew across the room, Feuilly returned to Grantaire and Jehan with a determined gaze set upon Enjolras. The attention of the room fell on him - all except Grantaire’s, who didn’t as much as flinch at the sound of Enjolras’ words.

“Jehan, I was thinking of taking some time to discuss La Marche du Siecle, you had some things to add?” Enjolras questioned, making eye contact with Jehan to avoid a faltering gaze back to where Grantaire sat next to him.

“You’re right I do!” he exclaimed, blushing at the gasps of fond laughter which spread around the room. “I may have gotten carried away… I have three emotive pieces including a really outrageous story of the silent protesters who got maced outside _Societe Generale_. Can you believe it? There’s also great interviews with Les Amis de la Terre, thanks to Courfeyrac!” He added, beaming smile shining across to where Courfeyrac sat, head held high in acknowledgement.

Enjolras, at this moment, was happy to return next to Combeferre - leaning his head against his shoulder in order to listen to Jehan speak. Conversation and debate spilt around the room - Joly shared his list of favourite protest signs, while Courfeyrac recited his discussion with some Greenpeace representatives. The excitement which spread around the room jumped from smiling faces, and Enjolras faded back amongst them. The meeting continued this way until no one had anything else to add, Enjolras keeping mostly to himself as his friends burst with any questions Enjolras had to consider.

Grantaire made no move to comment, no sarcastic comment on Macron, or the selfishness of society. Just as Enjolras became one with his chair, Grantaire remained frozen in place, hand rushing in a frenzy as he sketched with determination. Enjolras focused on his movements, the slight tilting of his head in concentration was Enjolras’ only way of reading how he was feeling. Yet, Enjolras still had no idea. With Jehan and Feuilly engaged wildly in an ongoing conversation, Grantaire easily kept to himself, going unnoticed by the others and the flames of their discussion burnt bright.

As conversations broke off, and the meeting somewhat adjourned in favour of smaller discussions - what Enjolras could make out was some in-depth storytelling on Marius’ romantic crusade, and Combeferre’s latest book read - Enjolras rose from his seat, and turned to walk down the stairs.

Leaving with just a nod to ‘Ferre, Enjolras felt a weight lift from his shoulders as he was welcomed with a lingering smell of coffee and a sense of escapism. Enjolras leaned against the bar, waiting for his drink with twitching fingers. The wood beneath him was cold, and he settled while he waits for the heavy thud of his mug against it.

 

Before he could get his coffee, the sound of thundering footsteps rang from behind him, shaking the floorboards of the nearly-empty room. Grantaire rushed passed, pushing his way through the door. Through the glass of the Musain door, Enjolras watched as he turned towards the back alley before his brain could register the events at all.

Not being able to help himself, Enjolras followed after him, wincing under the harsh air as he shivered his way over. He found Grantaire leaning against the brick of the wall, cigarette lit but burning closer and closer to his fingers as he stared up at the sky. Enjolras moved slowly, trying not to disrupt Grantaire in his contemplation. It looked, from a distance, as if Grantaire was seeking an escape too.

“Trying to catch your death there, honey?” he called - making Enjolras jump at the sudden break in silence.

Enjolras paused, because he wasn’t entirely sure what he was doing, exactly. He had already been caught now, and the consequences of having such a clouded mind today piled up with every move.

“You left.” was all he choked out, staying as vague and blunt as possible.

“That I did,” Grantaire replied, eyes still facing upwards, blowing cigarette smoke up into the stars.

“You seemed upset.” Enjolras continues

“That I am.”

Enjolras, despite what those may think, could see this hint where he saw it. Grantaire was making it clear he wasn’t in the mood for talking - his bluntness and pushing into silence only mirrored Enjolras earlier. Enjolras saw the hint and chose to ignore it - lining himself up against the bitter cold of the brick behind him.

“I apologised once, you know. I’m not going to do it again.” Enjolras added, tilting his own head up to the sky to avoid Grantaire’s gaze.

The stars were faint, hiding behind the clouds of the Parisian sky - the moments where hidden stars sparkled between their breaks of freedom from the clouds snatched Enjolras’ attention just enough to stop him lowering his head.

“God forbid.” Grantaire added.

It didn’t sting, Enjolras and Grantaire were not known for their apologies - there were no points during these last few years where they got close to a heart to heart against the suspiciously sticky and wet walls of the Musain back alley. Neither of them expected that to change any time soon, or at all if it were not for there current circumstances.

“I meant it, though. I could’ve reacted to everything a lot better. I’ve been so in my head about the whole thing that I didn’t even consider how you were feeling. You’re stuck in this mess too, so if you’ll let me, I think this whole mess could be a lot better if we weren’t fighting.”

Grantaire didn’t add anything, taking long drags of his cigarette as it burnt to his fingertips.  Dragging out the pain of both this situation and the bigger picture was more than frustrating, Enjolras was missing out on his work, he was unfocused. Enjolras couldn’t understand why Grantaire was making it difficult now that Enjolras was trying to help, this was what Grantaire had asked him for this morning. Despite what Grantaire might think of him, there wasn’t any part of him which wished to see the defeat and the anger which riddled Grantaire when he saw him leave.

Enjolras sighed. “Grantaire, I know you near to hate me - and I didn’t help show you I’m a person worth liking today” he defended “but just this once” and gosh Enjolras was saying that a lot today “could we do this together?”

“How could I possibly hate you, Enjolras?” he spoke after aching silence, his tone making Enjolras unsure of if he was mocking “We’re married, aren’t we?”

A small gasp from behind them caused both of their heads to shift - the comfort of the stars replaced with the shocked expression on Jehan’s face. Their eyes spread in horror from above their patchwork scarf, flicking their gaze between them with matching surprise.

The fates, it would seem, were not on Enjolras’ side today. Karmic payback for making such bad decisions in the first place staring him in the face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: this isn't abandoned, but i'm currently finishing my academic year. update will be SOON


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A slight intermission in Luxembourg. (TW/ for descriptions of panic attacks)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! It has been... a lot longer than I thought it had been, but I'm back, baby. 
> 
> This chapter is definitely a lot smaller than the others. Honestly, it didn't make sense to have it in the midst of other scenes.

This. Was. Just. Fantastic.

Grantaire’s eyes locked onto Enjolras, his own beading eyes and frantic expression staring back at him. The tips of his fingers seethed under the burning of his cigarette, and Grantaire’s mind froze - high pitched screeching bursting from his ears and thundering heartbeat pushing in rhythm against his ribs.

“Jehan, wait!”

Most of the time, Grantaire knew his biting tone was unnecessary, but at this moment he cursed the stone that built this impenetrable wall that surrounded him. Watching the curls of Jehan’s long lost braid bounce felt like slow motion, as they shuffled backwards with a smile which stretched from ear to ear.

No one else was smiling. Grantaire was definitely not smiling.

There was something to be learnt under the flickering streetlights, Grantaire was sure. A lifelong sentence to suffering humming with discontent and whistling consequences in the wind. Sure. Grantaire would long await the pain that came with running his mouth too quickly - his mouth which moved quicker than the legs which cemented to the ground. There was something to be learnt here, but Grantaire’s mind was crying in a choir of panic.

“Jehan!” a voice pleaded - not Grantaire’s - Enjolras’.

Against the gravel beneath them, Grantaire heard the weight of shoes scuffing - focusing on the ground below as the words that burned his throat grew heavy. The weight of unwelcome sensation threatened to swallow Grantaire whole as he pleaded against his body.

A tug against the cold of his knuckles pulled him downwards, the shocking sensation of Enjolras’ touch on his a blurring scald as they flew along the alleyway after Jehan. There was no registering how Enjolras managed to pull Grantaire through the door or up the stairs - scratching at the skin of his knuckles as they climbed. Grantaire followed through the noxious movements around him, as the light shifted from dim street light into blinding light that spread along the walls. Grantaire’s nerves seethed at the burn of eyes on him as his heartbeat consumed his senses, the whispers of Enjolras in his ear muted over his heavy breathing as he buried himself in the blonde nest that covered his cowering eyes.

“You TOLD them?”

“No, I-”

“You KNEW?”

“I wanted to tell you I really did but I-”

“So this is real?”

“Jehan, tell us again”

“So they were jus-”

Voices piled on top of each other. Grantaire could barely distinguish which of his friends were speaking, let alone what they were saying against the acceleration of his echoing thoughts. The chaos that filled the room just piled to the stammering noise that flooded Grantaire’s head - incoherent and pleading. Noise around him rose louder and louder and louder the harder he inched away, begging against Enjolras’ skin to disappear.

“STOP”

The room became sensitive to any sound amongst the fallen silence that spread around it - the shuddering exhales of Grantaire’s breath felt harsh against the empty air. Tangled scratches of curls and cotton caused Grantaire to flinch backwards, the sudden loss of Enjolras only temporary as a haze of blue eyes met his.

“Grantaire?”

Grantaire’s eyes were wide with fear as they met Enjolras’ with an unregistering haze. There was no way for Grantaire to respond to the ineffable pity that would sweep across him - scraping nails against Grantaire’s skin pleaded against his senses. Feet felt leaden with the pressure against his chest - He needed to get out of here, yet the overwhelming need for escape flooded around concrete limbs.

“Are you okay?”

 _No._ Grantaire was not okay, the tightening of his throat tormenting as his breath shook. _No._ His skin was shocked by the need to flee. _No._ Nothing was okay.

Grantaire pleaded for the ragged run of curls to shake - to twitch just enough to be noticed by the man in front of him. He tracked the careful movements of freckled skin as they hovered above his shoulder - shuddering at sensation before it disappeared.

"You're okay. I've got you" Enjolras whispered down at him.

There was a moment of fleeting whispers, as Grantaire pulled at raw skin - pushing away from the support of the bannister. Red flooded his vision as he was ushered away by herculean hands, etching his way towards the biting cold of the Paris night. 

Home was not far from here. He needed to be home.

Freed from a cement block, his feet carried him down the street as he hurdled further away from the Musain. Tonight taunted his better judgement - he’d made everything worse, and what was worse was he predicted it. The unfleeting feeling that he could not escape this nightmare pulled against the strings of his chest, with no sign of relenting as he continued choking against the cold air while his building crept into sight. His feet carried him against the sting of Paris air - the footsteps that followed beside him mere mirrors of the thundering heartbeats of his chest. Grantaire wrapped his arms around his waist - woven tight against the will of his ragged breathing.

He needed to be home.  

 

 

The unyielding ache dancing against Enjolras’ skin twisted his heartstrings. Grantaire had long curled up on his own mattress - tugging at the blankets around him like a lifeline. Enjolras did not feel permitted to do anything, he was ghosting around the small space of the home, tripping over discarded remnants of Grantaire. There was a growling discomfort which spread at the idea of invading Grantaire’s space like this, yet the idea of leaving was out of the question.

Looking down at Grantaire, sweat covering his brow as he slept, Enjolras’ hugged his chest with a sigh. It was not the time to be wallowing in guilt, but there was nothing else left but the dragging realm of contemplation. This was his fault. Enjolras would not compromise on that. Each flinch towards Grantaire’s restless sleep was that reminder which fueled the fire. Asking this of Grantaire, someone who didn’t like him already, was too much. He wouldn’t wish this on anyone - even Grantaire.

A turning of locks echoed louder than the unharmonised breathing between them - causing Enjolras to snap his head first to Grantaire, who had not stirred and back up to the twisting handle. Familiar red-head following through a crack in the chipped door. Feuilly smiled softly at the sight of them - focusing his gaze on Grantaire with a sigh.

“How is he?” Feuilly questioned, motioning to the kitchen to avoid hushed toned.

Enjolras raked his hand through the tangled trap of curls, tiptoeing across the space with a final glance to Grantaire. Still asleep.

Feuilly busied himself with the brewing kettle as Enjolras caught up - delicately dissolving the tension which followed from the Musain.

“Sleeping” was all that Enjolras’ mustered, watching Feuilly’s fingers dance as he moved across Grantaire’s kitchen with confidence which crushed the cowardice of Enjolras’ timid movements.

Feuilly hummed - empty urges to continue moving between the two of them, floating amongst the air like the steam of their coffee.

“He didn’t… Well… He, uh… didn’t want to talk about it.” Enjolras commented.

It was evident that Feuilly was not the only one edging for more information. Enjolras slumped against the solid edge of the countertop. Softly sipping the coffee in front of him, Feuilly shifted, gentle gaze meeting his with another small smile.

“How are you?”

Enjolras shifted, swaying under the weight of a simple question. The only honest certainly of Enjolras himself was burrowed in the corner of Enjolras’ brain was his own accountability, he felt rotten. Most importantly, Enjolras felt uneasy; though not on his own part, as Enjolras’ mind flickered to fretting concerns for Grantaire.

“I don’t know” was all he responded.

Enjolras pleaded for his steadiness as he winced under the clink of his mug against the counter. There was something recognisable in Enjolras, a beacon of leadership, reliability, determination - In secret, Enjolras was proud of who he could become. Right now, though, Enjolras felt helpless; incapable of even thinking. It was unnerving, having his emotions in the driving seat of his mind for so long…

Enjolras pulled against the will of his thumbs, twiddling together in thought. His stomach twisted at the irony that the only true certainty had become his uncertainty. If Enjolras couldn’t even muster an honest response, how was he going to do this? How was he supposed to care for Grantaire?

“Feuilly” he croaked.

Auburn hair flew to his attention - tilting in acknowledgement.

“What am I going to do?”

The benevolence that spread across Feuilly’s face could not possible soften further, the man met his eyes with melted pity as he rested the cooling cup against his palm.

“You’re already doing it” Feuilly began. “You’re here, Enjolras.”

Enjolras pushed the netted curls from his eyes. It didn’t feel enough, just being here.

“What if this was my fault, Feuilly?” he tried instead.

Feuilly shifted forward - resting his free arm on the fabric of Enjolras’ back, “You couldn’t have known this would trigger anything, Enjolras.” Feuilly sighed, “We shouldn’t have ambushed you, either. Don’t take all the blame for this.”

That was _exactly_ what he was doing, though. He threw his head back as if the ceiling could grant him the answers he needed.

“Everyone is planning to apologise. Jehan especially” Feuilly continued, “They feel terrible for not giving you space to explain” he added, Enjolras pointedly ignoring their gaze as the conversation continued.

Enjolras’ sigh was heavy - filling the room with silence to avoid awkwardly digging their graves. This all spread with flashing red lights as they travelled deeper down their rabbit hole. No part of him wished for Jehan to feel bad, or anyone for that matter. As it grew, Enjolras found himself entrapped in a duo with Grantaire - the reference to them both inseparable when in fact, Enjolras was most apologetic to all of them.

Before Enjolras could move to open his mouth again, Feuilly chimed “Coufeyrac tried to explain the best he could. I won’t ask you for details, you know.”

There was nothing Enjolras felt to do but lean his head upon Feuilly’s shoulder - resting between his neck with ease. Neither of them could be sure of how long they stayed like that - Enjolras’ eyes fluttering close under the warmth of close comfort - forgetting the harsh light of Grantaire’s kitchen. From the crook of Feuilly’s neck, Enjolras found a fleeting sense of escape. For a moment, it was as if everything was okay, it was like a safe haven.

Fingers untangled themselves from the cage of blonde curls, as they both straightened up - exchanging small smiles as Feuilly took both their mugs back.

“I can stay, if you’d like” Feuilly offered, but the filters of gentle smiles withered to reveal how tired he seemed in a new light - Feuilly worked hard, and would most probably be working harder tomorrow.

Regardless, Enjolras’ heart pulled for him to stay. It was obvious to him that he would just be restless wondering if Grantaire was okay.

“I’d rather it be me, if you don’t mind?” Enjolras added, pushing a small, genuine smile as Feuilly gave a short nod, “I’ll let you know how he is in the morning.”

They crept out of the kitchen in relative silence - peeking at Grantaire still mixed between his sheets through the crack of the door. Enjolras’ gaze lingered, pulling his neck back as he tiptoed back.

Feuilly wrapped his arms around Enjolras’ shoulders, briefly swallowing him in a hug as they stood on either side of the door. With a final smile, Feuilly strode to the staircase of the building.

“Feuilly” Enjolras called in as hushed a tone as he could balance.

His friend’s head snapped back, craning back from his position on the stairs.

“Thank you” Enjolras added with simplicity before Feuilly climbed the stairs to the comfort of his home, and Enjolras wrapped in the empty silence of Grantaire’s apartment.

 

Enjolras paused on his journey to Grantaire’s living room - eyes shifting back towards him. He moved towards the crack of the door, carefully sliding is way through. Nothing had changed, Grantaire’s face was not softened with sleep as he burrowed his way into the comfort of his bed. Grantaire, curled into himself, looked like a child surrounded by a nightmare. He was more vulnerable than Enjolras had ever seen him, and Grantaire deserved that privacy, and to feel safe even in slumber.

Before he could bring himself to move, Enjolras swept sweat-ridden curls from Grantaire’s face. Fallen deep into his sleep, Grantaire did not stir under his touch, and Enjolras felt an incredible force to push away from the sleeping man in front of him.

Staring down at Grantaire, Enjolras pressed a fleeting kiss against his crown of raven curls.

“Goodnight, Grantaire” Enjolras whispered into his skin - as if he were telling a secret.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry that these guys are having the worst 24 hours ever. I cannot promise a good time, but finger crossed, you know?


End file.
